


Plans Best Laid to Waste

by runawayballista



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Action, Gen, Infiltration, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawayballista/pseuds/runawayballista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It only takes a little bad intel for York and Carolina to wind up trapped in a dumbwaiter with a bomb.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plans Best Laid to Waste

It’s hot.

That’s what York will always remember about this moment -- the stifling heat, the way he can barely breathe. It’s like a goddamn sauna inside his armor. Sweat drips down his forehead into his eyes, and it stings and he spends more time than they can really afford blinking it away. He’d kill to be able to remove his helmet even for just a minute, so he could wipe his face dry and better focus on the task at hand, but there’s no room for that, not where they’re stuck.

He blames Carolina for it a little, and himself a bit more, but mostly he blames bad intel, and when they get back to base he swears he’s going to throttle whatever sorry son of a bitch gave him those floor plans. The mission was supposed to be easy -- get in, disarm the bomb and take the information they need, get out -- but instead of picking that lock on the thirty-seventh floor, instead he’s crammed back-to-back with Carolina somewhere between floors twelve and fourteen, feeling like he’s boiling alive.

“How you doing over there, York?” Carolina’s voice cuts through the hot air like radio static. She sounds like a caged animal. She’s never liked these tight spots.

“About the same as thirty seconds ago, when you last asked me,” he says tersely, and he cracks his knuckles, feeling the way the gloves slide around his sweaty hands. Little lights blink at him out of the darkness. “Just give me some time.”

They have a plan. York studies the floor plans until he knows them by heart, knew every twist and turn and lock. Hell, he knows what kind of _carpeting_ they’ve got. This is what he does -- it’s his job, and he’s _good_ at it. He maps out an entry route, optimized for discretion and speed.

The building has a cleverly designed dumbwaiter system. Each car has a set route that runs between the walls, stopping at designated floors and _only_ those floors. According to their intel, the bomb is supposed to be on the thirty-seventh floor located in the suite that holds the information they need to retrieve. There’s a mag lock behind double encryption between them and where they need to be, but York’s not worried. He tells Carolina he has a plan to get them in and out and no one will even know they’ve been there.

She doesn’t like the plan, of course. He knows she won’t. The idea of riding through the network of dumbwaiters, hopping from floor to floor, doesn’t appeal to her. But they can fit -- just barely -- and she has to admit, grudgingly, that it’s a _good_ plan.

He designs their route with meticulous attention to detail, and so there should be no room for error. But when the second dumbwaiter they ride stops a floor earlier than York’s intel says it should and they’re greeted not with an empty room but a cluster of bewildered security staff, things start to go wrong. The security staff opens fire on them, and they have no choice but to take them down. York’s muttering curses under his breath as he leads Carolina down the hall to find their next ride, ignoring every demand for explanation she hisses his way.

“Are you sure this is going to get us where we need to go?”

York is already clambering into the dumbwaiter without a moment’s hesitation, and he glances back at her over his shoulder.

“Two minutes ago? Yeah, sure. Now? I don’t know, but would you rather stick around and wait for the rest of security to show up?” His voice is clipped, impatient, and he’s talking about as fast as he can get his tongue to move. “This line is _supposed_ to go to floor thirty-seven, and if we’re lucky, it’ll actually take us there -- ”

The sound of footsteps approaches. York closes his hand around Carolina’s arm. “Time to move,” he says, and pulls her into the dumbwaiter. But they’ve wasted just a second too long -- Carolina shoves herself inside, pressed up against York, and another few security guards come around the corner. They see the Freelancers’ armor and they balk, hesitating just long enough for Carolina to twist around and pull out her pistol. _She_ doesn’t hesitate.

York slaps his hand over the button and Carolina gets out four shots before they start to return fire. The dumbwaiter starts moving, but the shots keep coming, and before they know it the car suddenly bucks and rocks, and it takes them both an unbearably long moment to realize that they’re plummeting downward. There’s no time left to think. Carolina kicks her foot through the still-open door of the dumbwaiter and catches her heel on the wall they’re speeding past, her armored boot digging chunks out of it, and she reaches out blindly with her hand, but before she can find anything to grab onto, the car suddenly jerks to a stop. Carolina’s helmet hits the top of the dumbwaiter and they rock back and forth, slowing down -- they’re not falling anymore.

Emergency brakes. Of course. Elevators have them; she can’t imagine why dumbwaiters wouldn’t. “Thank _God_ ,” she breathes. She tries to pull her leg back inside the dumbwaiter, but there’s hardly any room. At least they’re no longer plummeting to their deaths.

“I hate to break it to you, Carolina,” says York, and his voice sounds oddly strangled, “but we’ve got another problem.”

And then she notices the quiet, steady beeping in the background.

The muffled heat trapped between the walls begins to set in, and York starts muttering to himself agitatedly. She can feel him shifting slightly behind her, and she tenses up automatically.

“York,” she says slowly. “What the _hell_ is that?”

“Damn it. It’s not supposed to be _here_...” York clears his throat, and the cheerful tone that his voice takes on is painfully fake. “Well, I’ve got good news and bad news.”

Carolina says nothing, doesn’t dare say anything, and after a beat of silence his voice crackles through the air again.

“Well, since you _asked_ , the good news is I am now back to a hundred percent certainty that this is the right car, and we’ll be right where we’re supposed to be.” He pauses, and she swears she can almost hear him lick his lips. “The bad news...is that the bomb isn’t.”

Carolina jerks, about as much as she has room to, and tries in vain to twist her neck around to see York. She wishes right now she could look him in the eye. “The bomb isn’t _what_?” she says, and she can barely herself over the sudden thudding of her heart in her throat. _This is no time for your games, York, this is no time for bullshit_ \--

“It’s not where it’s supposed to be,” says York, and _God_ , she swears she can hear his smile cracking. “In fact, it’s...right here.”

“It’s here?” Carolina repeats. “Right here, in here with us? In the dumbwaiter?”

“Practically in my lap.”

“I thought it was supposed to be in the bathroom wall in the suite!”

“You might have noticed,” York says, unable to keep the biting wryness from his voice, “but our intel hasn’t exactly proven to be reliable today.”

Carolina rattles off a few favorite curses, shifting restlessly. “Why is it beeping?”

“Oh, that’s...because we activated it when we got in.”

“ _What_?”

“You, uh. Might want to settle down,” he suggests gingerly. His voice is tight. Carolina draws in a deep breath and keeps herself still. “It’s fitted with a pressure sensitive device that detects changes in the suspension on the cables. My best guess is that it was supposed to be activated when someone put something in here to send up -- something heavy enough to trip it, like food or a briefcase or something -- and then detonate on removal.”

“So it’s not on a timer,” Carolina says. She huffs a breath of relief. “We’re okay, then.”

“As long as we don’t jump ship before I disarm the thing, yeah.”

“You _can_ disarm it, can’t you?”

“Of course I can!” He hardly moves, but Carolina swears if she could see him he’d be puffing his chest up haughtily. “Of course, it’s not the type of bomb I was _supposed_ to be working with...”

“ _York_.”

“Relax! I can do it. It just...might take a little while.” He flexes his fingers, feeling the joints pop. “I wasn’t prepared for this.”

“Don’t take too long. I’m sure it won’t be long before security comes looking. So get cracking.”

“Yes, _ma’am_ ,” York says, with just a little too much enthusiasm.

===

The air is still between the walls, and the heat only builds between them, threatening to smother them. York’s hair is matted to his scalp, and he’s pretty sure his helmet is going to stink for days. He works gingerly, running diagnostics about as often as he can -- check, check, double check to make sure he doesn’t make a fatal misstep. And Carolina’s tense behind him, and he can’t blame her -- she’s just sitting there, and she’s not used to doing nothing. She just keeps her gun in her hands, ready to shoot. Every second stretches out miles before her in the still air, and she can’t help but ask York over and over again how it’s coming.

He knows she can’t help it, he knows she’s restless and nervous, but it’s starting to wear on his nerves the way she fractures his concentration. It feels like he’s making progress in baby steps, monumentally incremental, and even as far as he’s come it feels like it’ll go on forever. So when she interrupts the silence yet again, he can’t help but clench his jaw just a little.

“Can’t you hurry it up a little?” She sounds like she’s suffocating of heat, too. York lets a thin breath whistle out his nose.

“Listen, Carolina, there’s a long way and there’s a short way, and spoiler alert! Only one of those ends with us getting out of here in one piece.” He huffs out a breath, and the back of his neck itches mercilessly. “Theoretically.”

“ _Theoretically_?”

“Well, I can’t speak for all those guys with guns coming after us. I’m sure we’ll pull through somehow.”

It’s clear from her stiff silence that she doesn’t appreciate his sarcasm, but she doesn’t say anything, and the lull lets him sink back into his concentration. He’s almost there, he’s certain -- the program running the bomb is simple, he knows, but its failsafes aren’t, and he’s so sure he’s knocked out almost all of them. A familiar hum fills his ears. He’s in the zone, now, and he’s ready to crack this thing wide open.

The sound of nearby footsteps pushes itself through the wall down to them, and suddenly Carolina is tense, pistol pointed upward. It won’t be long before they look down the shaft and see the two of them, crammed into the dumbwaiter car like sardines. And it won’t be long after that before they’ll start shooting. “York,” she says through gritted teeth. “They’re here.”

He just tunes her out this time, his focus narrowed to a pinpoint. There’s a familiar, heady excitement building in the back of his head. He’s so close, _so close_ and he knows it. His breathing is shallow, and he’s bent over the bomb as much as he can be, with how little room there is to move. Sweat drips down into his eyes but he doesn’t even blink it away this time, fingers trembling just slightly as he reaches inside the bomb.

There’s a distant shout above them, but the spray of gunfire sounds a lot closer. York jerks back from the bomb and knocks against Carolina, fingers clenched.

“York!” Her voice is full of alarm, but somehow it’s steadier than it was before, strong and audible even above the gunfire. “York, I need you to -- ”

“It’s done!”

“Good. Then let’s get out of here before they actually start hitting what they’re shooting at.”

“Brilliant plan,” says York. “Any notion as to how we’re supposed to gracefully float down twelve stories?”

Carolina doesn’t hesitate -- she never does -- she just raises her armored fist and punches a hole right through the ceiling of the dumbwaiter. Rubble rains down around her head, but she can get to her feet now, rising through the moonroof she’s just made for herself, and she grabs the cable to steady herself as the car begins to rock. There’s enough room inside now that York can get into a crouch, at least, but he’s eying the source of the gunshots warily.

“Carolina, what -- ”

“Let’s _go_ , York!” Before he can even breathe, she grabs his arm and _pulls_. They leap off the dumbwaiter, sailing downward with all the grace of a falling cannon ball. She slides in through the open dumbwaiter entrance on the twelfth floor, whipping around to grab York’s arm and haul him up before he even has a chance to miss the ledge.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” he gasps, staggering a step or two. “Have you lost your damn -- are they _still shooting_ out there?”

“Sounds like it.”

York throws one last wild-eyed glance at the dumbwaiter door. “We’re gonna want to get moving.” He gives her a helpful shove and takes off at a dead run, putting as much distance between himself and the dumbwaiter shaft. Carolina takes after him, fists pumping at her sides.

“York! We still need to retrieve the -- ”

The air erupts behind them with a roar, and a deafening rush fills their ears just before they’re engulfed in a blistering heat. It’s over in a flash, and Carolina’s facedown on the floor, her ears ringing. She blinks several times until her vision stops swimming and begins to push herself to her knees. She puts a hand to her chest -- it’s tight, and she’s had the wind knocked out of her, but it doesn’t feel like anything’s broken.

All hell breaks loose around them, and people are running from all directions under a cloud of screaming. Carolina spots York slumped ungracefully feet-up against a wall, and he falls away from it with a groan as he struggles to get up. Carolina’s at his side in an instant, pulling him to his feet.

“I thought you said you _disarmed the bomb_!”

“I disabled the pressure sensitive device so it wouldn’t go off if we got out! I didn’t make it _not able to explode_!” He shrugs her arm away and starts to move, without a second to waste. “Come on, Carolina, let’s _move_!”

She follows him to the stairwell but she skids to a stop as soon as she sees him all but sliding down the stairs, taking them two at a time. “ _York_ , you idiot, we still need to -- ”

“479er, this is Foxtrot 12 requesting evacuation. Mission accomplished. I repeat, this is Foxtrot 12 requesting evacuation, over.”

Carolina hears 479er’s voice crackle over the comm radio. “Copy that, Foxtrot 12. I’ve got your coords and I’m coming down, out.”

The building quakes around them, and as chunks of concrete and steel begin raining down from above, Carolina doesn’t think or question, she just runs. She makes a wild leap down two flights of stairs to land a few feet away from York, the armor absorbing most of the shock for her. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. They had a _plan_.

They clear twelve flights of stairs with the kind of speed that only Freelancers can, darting out through the back entrance, away from the crowds and smoke and cluster of emergency response vehicles that cloud around the front of the building. Carolina barely has time to catch her breath, let alone chew York out for the disproportionate failure of their mission, before the Pelican clears the air above them.

The first thing York does when he gets aboard is pull his helmet off. He shakes the sweat away from his face, and he runs one gloved hand through his hair, making a face when it comes away wet. He decides then that he’s never going to a sauna.

“ _Goddamn_ it, York,” growls Carolina, and there’s no way he can’t feel the heat of the glare behind her helmet. “That wasn’t how it was supposed to go! The Director’s going to have a _conniption fit_ when we get back!”

“I thought you said mission accomplished,” says 479er over her shoulder.

“What does it _look like_ we accomplished?” snaps Carolina.

“Yeah, I’ll admit, I wasn’t planning on anything exploding,” York admits, and a shamelessly sheepish look comes over him, and he grins at Carolina, holding his hand out. “But hey -- does this count for anything?”

She swipes the minidrive from his hand and examines it, and sure enough, it’s got the insignia they were looking for. She gives him an incredulous look from behind her visor. “You retrieved it? _How_?”

York shrugs, and she wants to wipe that smug look off his face, but she can’t deny how relieved she is. “It was in the dumbwaiter with the bomb, on its way up to floor thirty-seven. I’m guessing that’s why the bomb was in there in the first place -- they were trying to bomb the suite _and_ the data in one fell swoop.”

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything _before_?”

“I don’t know if you remember, but I was a _little_ preoccupied.” He lets his head roll to the side a little, and he raises his eyebrows at Carolina. “Come on, what do you say -- we even?”

Carolina wrenches her helmet off and lets out a huff, but she gives him a resigned purse of her lips. “I guess it counts for _something_ ,” she says, unwilling to let him get off too easy, and takes a seat next to him. The air in the Pelican is refreshingly cool against her sweat-streaked skin, but it’s York’s dumb, relieved grin that she’ll always remember about this moment.


End file.
